


Strange Circumstances, Strange Bedfellows

by Telaryn



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Captivity, Dark, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, Hand Jobs, Hate, Hate Sex, M/M, Restraints, Secret Identity, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somebody in the Glades has been modifying Vertigo, putting an aphrodisiac spin on the Count's original formula.  The Hood has been investigating the new distribution network, and Detective Quentin Lance is following the Hood.</p><p>When they're <i>both</i> taken by the gang controlling the drug's manufacture and distribution, their captors decide to try an experiment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Circumstances, Strange Bedfellows

Quentin had made a lot of mistakes in his life, but few of them had been more likely to turn as bad as this was promising to. He’d gone into the Glades alone following the vigilante’s trail, and accidentally stumbled into a vertigo den. The drug was making a resurgence in the Glades, backed heavily by Russian mob money, with disturbing reports of new and enhanced effects.

At any rate, the three toughs who jumped him were definitely Russian. Quentin fought as hard as he could, but he was quickly subdued, disarmed, and forced to his knees with his arms twisted up painfully behind his back. “You don’t want to do this,” he gasped. “I’m a cop.”

The room was filled with derisive laughter. Rough hands searched his clothing, relieving him of both his service weapon and his back-up, and coming up with his identification. “Detective Quentin Lance,” a bald man in head to toe black leather read out for the assembled crowd. “Starling City Police Department.”

“Hey!” a woman called out, stepping out of the crowd. “He’s the one who’s in charge of chasing the hood-guy.”

The bald tough looked intrigued by the information. “Well. Being civic minded individuals I think we can help you in your quest, Detective.” More laughter, then one of the men restraining Quentin fisted a hand in his hair – dragging his head painfully to one side.

“No…” Black leather filled Quentin’s vision as the bald man stepped in on him. “You’re going to enjoy this, detective,” he purred, pressing one hand against the side of Quentin’s head. Before he could say anything, a needle bit into his skin. “No!” he protested, struggling weakly. “Don’t…”

 _No…_ Vertigo – he hadn’t read any of the departmental memos on what the new improved strain of the drug was capable of, but he’d seen what happened to the man who’d created the original version when he was subjected to a highly concentrated dose of his creation. _To be mad in truth, instead of just wondering what it will be like when I finally get there…_

The needle was withdrawn and his captor crouched in front of him. A delicious warmth was already spreading out through Quentin’s body from the injection site as his head was raised and he was forced to look directly into the bald man’s eyes.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” The man grinned at him and Quentin gasped as fire licked down through his chest into his belly and pooling at his groin. His cock stiffened until he was achingly hard, and his hips began making small, involuntary thrusting motions. “The new formula overloads your sex drive, turning you into a mindless animal willing to mate with anyone or anything that will have you.” His hand cupped the bulge of Quentin’s erection; the detective cried out, rocking forward into the sudden pressure.

“If I turned you loose now detective,” the man murmured, leaning in close as his hand continued massaging Quentin’s cock, “you would be begging to fuck every person in this room. You would do things that would cause you to die of embarrassment when you were back in your right mind.” The pressure between his thighs gradually increased, until Quentin could barely breathe with how good it felt.

Rough lips captured his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss; a tongue pushed in past his teeth, forcing his mouth open and stealing the last of his breath as his orgasm slammed into him like a freight train. Quentin’s body stuttered and jerked, twisting painfully hard against the hands holding him as he rode out the tidal wave of pleasure.

“I won’t make you whore yourself out to my people though,” the bald man murmured, once the rush of endorphins finally began to wane. “I’ve got something much better in store for you.”

Quentin’s cock was already hard again, every nerve in his body vibrating with the need to be touched by the time they hauled him to his feet and dragged him from the room. He didn’t have the will to resist as the drug worked its way deeper into his system, leaving him only with a single minded drive to relieve the relentlessly mounting sexual desire.

They half dragged, half marched him down to a different room – this one with a door and a large viewing window. Quentin barely noticed; by the time they got the door open he was flushed and trembling, his only clear thought that he had to get his hands on his cock again or he was going to die – burned up from the inside with the crawling, aching need.

“An old friend for you to play with, detective!” the bald man crowed. Quentin was dragged forward and shoved into the room. He stumbled, and only a lucky grab at a nearby table kept him from going down hard on the bare concrete.

Laughter filled his ears again, along with the slamming and locking of the door to his prison. There _was_ somebody in the room with him. Clinging to the table like it was his lifeline, Quentin saw a familiar form in dark green leather lying face-down on the floor…apparently unconscious. His arms were bound behind his back, and his hood - _that damnable hood_ \- was covering his head, and the front of it had fallen across the vigilante’s face.

Half-collapsing against the table now, Quentin palmed the bulge of his erection through his pants as he tried to figure out what to do. _Fuck him…use him…you’ve got the upper hand now…_ Growling in frustration, he tried desperately to bring himself back under some semblance of control. The Hood was unconscious – helpless. All the other times the two of them had fought and fucked and hated each other didn’t matter. Quentin knew if he lost _this_ fight, if let the drug drive him to mindlessly relieve his suffering on somebody who couldn’t fight back, he would never recover.

Even as he argued with himself, he was undoing his ruined slacks with shaking hands. He didn’t have a hope of being able to ride out the drug’s effects before the Hood regained consciousness, but by the time he freed his cock and was able to wrap his hand around the base of his shaft, he was well past caring. Moaning as he jacked himself, Quentin put his back to the wall and slid slowly down, until he was seated on the floor.

Drawing up his legs and spreading them to give himself better access, Quentin began replaying some of the other times he and the Hood had clashed. _Pushing him face first over the desk in that deserted office building, the feel of that perfectly toned body writhing on his cock…up against the wall in the alley, hearing the rasp of leather against the greasy bricks…gripping the edges of the hood itself as the vigilante sucked him off on the roof of his own apartment building…_

His entire body jolted, convulsing as his cock pulsed out the first strand of come. Quentin grit his teeth against all the sounds he was dying to make, and focused on milking himself dry.

When the heat of his orgasm finally began to fade, he was rewarded with an all too brief moment of clarity. _A mindless animal, willing to mate with anyone or anything that will have you…_ Trying to escape was unthinkable, until the worst of the drug’s effects had worn off. At least here he was trapped with the devil he knew.

He flinched, startled by movement from the Hood. “Hey!” he called, blinking rapidly as he tried not to get distracted by the curve of the younger man’s hips… _remembering how it felt to dig his fingers into the soft skin as they fucked…oh God…_ He was already getting hard again as the Hood regained consciousness and pushed himself up onto his knees.

“What..?” The Hood turned towards him at last. “Detective.” Quentin could feel his enemy looking him over, assessing his condition, but he was already too beaten down to resist the pull of his own hormones. Heedless of what he looked like, Quentin began stroking himself again.

Even though he couldn’t see the younger man’s eyes, Quentin knew the Hood was watching the movement. “How long ago did they dose you?”

Quentin closed his eyes, struggling to think about anything other than how badly he needed to come again. “Not long,” he finally managed to gasp, just as his body convulsed, and a fresh, warm spill of come flowed over his fist. The cry of relief that was ripped from his throat sounded like it had been spun out of blood and broken glass.

“Detective, do you trust me?” The question was sharp in the moment of silence that followed Quentin’s orgasm, and all Quentin could do was laugh bitterly in response.

“No,” he finally managed to spit out

The Hood seemed to realize how ridiculous the question had been, because a moment later he asked, “Do you trust me more than you trust them?” His head jerked towards the room’s only window; Quentin had almost managed to forget that they had an audience.

 _Dammit._ His cock twitched weakly against his thigh, trying to rise again. Already Quentin could feel patches of rough skin along its length, where he was on the verge of rubbing himself bloody. “Yes,” he finally said, closing his eyes again and letting his head fall back weakly against the wall behind him. “Yes, dammit, yes.” He couldn’t survive this on his own – not if this was how the next several hours were likely to be.

A moment later, the scent of leather and sweat filled his nostrils, mingling with the all-pervasive stink of his own sexual release. Quentin opened his eyes to see the Hood crouched close in front of him, pulling Quentin’s belt free of its loops. “You don’t want to let the drug rule you,” he said, bringing Quentin’s wrists together and looping the thick leather tight around them. Any thoughts Quentin might have had about being tied up and at the mercy of his enemy were swept away in a rush as his body began reacting to the Hood’s closeness.

“No.” The Hood jerked up on the length of Quentin’s belt he still had in his gloved hand as Quentin started to reach down towards his cock. “Not yet.”

Quentin’s heart was racing, his blood pounding again as his cock stiffened once more – brushing against the Hood’s leather clad thigh as it lengthened. “Don’t make me beg,” he moaned, closing his eyes and trying to will himself anywhere but here. “I swear to God, if you make me beg I will shoot you.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Quentin was stunned to hear a note of concern under the flat tone of the voice modulator. “Not now, not like this. Might file it away for later, though.”

“Bastard,” Quentin moaned, writhing as he tried to get any kind of friction he could on his cock.

“Relax. If you give yourself another hand-job right now, you’re going to bleed.” Leather-clad fingers dug into the meat of his thighs, dragging furrows into his flesh. Half-groaning, half-sobbing, Quentin tried to lower his hands again only to have the Hood bat them aside. “I said, no.” Their eyes met, and Quentin was possessed with a sudden desire to lean in and kiss his enemy.

It was the one thing that couldn’t happen between them. Kissing would be too close, too intimate – would risk him finding out who the vigilante really was. Especially here and now he couldn’t risk it. He wouldn’t survive knowing which citizen of the city he served had seen him at his most desperately lost and vulnerable.

Warm, wet heat engulfed the head of his cock, making him cry out. “I’ll get you through this,” the Hood said, drawing his attention again. “You have to do what I tell you though, because we’re not going to get any help from our friends on the other side of that window.” He tongued the slit of Quentin’s cock, rolling a thick strand of pre-come into his mouth. Quentin groaned at the pleasure suddenly flooding his limbs, closing his eyes and arching his back.

It was infinitely better this way. The Hood took him in smooth and slick – Quentin was making a high, keening sound in the back of his throat by the time he reached bottom. The outward stroke was an exquisitely sweet drag of pressure that left him gasping for breath. He started to bring his hands down on the hood, fingers clenching and unclenching with the need to guide, to control – then raised them again, remembering his position.

Strong hands gripped his thighs, forcing them far enough apart to set up a shivering ache in his muscles. The Hood hummed around the mouthful of his cock, increasing the pace of his strokes, until Quentin was practically sobbing with the need for release. _How much more?_ He could feel the drug in his veins, like a river of fire and ice drowning out everything else in his world. If the Hood hadn’t intervened, taken control, he would have fucked himself bloody with his own fist, mindlessly reaching for that next brief moment of blissful release.

Pressure increased in his groin, swelling outwards until he cried out. Fingers dug into his flesh again, acknowledging the warning as he came hard into the warm heat of his enemy’s mouth. This orgasm stretched out longer than the others, the pleasure all-consuming, leaving him hovering on the edge of passing out.

He was only dimly aware of the Hood letting him go, sitting back on his heels. “You should have a longer break this time,” he said, and Quentin heard the same note of concern he’d heard before. “Give you a chance to recover some before we go again.”

Quentin didn’t have the energy to protest or fight what was going to happen anymore. He did manage to nod, meeting the Hood’s eyes. “Thank you.”

The vigilante’s low chuckle was like velvet against his over-stressed nerves. “We’ll get you through this, detective. And I promise I won’t remind you of your gratitude when it’s all over.”


End file.
